Wanna Know?
by Emii
Summary: Behind the scenes, the night Batman ambushed the shipment. Joker origin fic, One-shot. Reviews most welcome!


"The shipment hits us at ten to midnight. We unload it, check the weights, set it up to go," he licked his lips slowly and fixed his gaze on one face in the small crowd. "And we don't ask questions."

The guy blinked slowly and kept his expression plain. His new 'supervisor' leant forward, the sweat shining through his cropped hair.

"Have you got that…" he checked his papers. "…'Jack'?"

Jack nodded and checked his wristwatch, aware that the rest of the men were watching him closely. It was ten p.m. It was raining. It was an hour's walk across town to the warehouse, and as the new guy, he got the metaphorical short straw.

A stocky body loomed behind him and clapped him just a little too hard on the shoulder.

"You should set off soon, give yourself some time to catch the dry spells." Jack could almost feel the grin aimed at the back of his neck. "You should stop for food too… and we'll see you when we get there."

It was a definite warning, rather than a farewell. The walk was a test – if he didn't show at the other end, he'd be just another body floating in the gutter, to be found by some poor bastard of a paperboy the next morning. Pulling the collar up on his short jacket, he pushed his hair out of his face and stepped out onto the sidewalk. The raindrops pooled on his neck almost immediately and ran like ice down his back. A man in a suit with an umbrella sidestepped to avoid him, glaring as he passed.

Jack turned back to look into the alleyway storage space he'd just exited, and several pairs of eyes stared back. A skinny-looking guy raised an arm in a mock wave and his supervisor bared his teeth in a knowing grin. In reply, Jack started the long wet walk across Gotham, surrounded by the muffled sounds of the city at night.

oOo

After half an hour, his feet were soaked. The rest of him, Jack could cope with… but he hated having wet feet. He pushed the creeping second thoughts out of his mind and pressed on, the thick raindrops battering the top of his head. Industrial fog curled out from grates and manhole-covers and he smiled to himself, finding it strangely reassuring on the deserted patch of road. Under the occasional rumbles of thunder, the sounds of horns and engines were getting louder. Headlights and streetlamps danced through the weather and he made for the livelier part of the city, hoping that tonight would pay off.

_This is a big job_, the thoughts pestered him again. _Do you know who you're dealing with?_

He strode on. It was a natural progression, he told himself. Petty crime held nothing for him anymore. He needed something more serious. Besides, in this place the safest place to be a criminal was under Falcone.

_What about the Bat-Man?_

He shook his head, spraying water uselessly.

_I guess all walks of life have their urban myths. Criminal folklore. Ha._

A horn bellowed at him and he leapt back out of the road. A taxi narrowly missed him as it aquaplaned around the corner and clipped the sidewalk. To add insult to injury, brown water arced over him and he wiped the accompanying grit off his face.

"Watch out, ya nut!" The driver yelled at him and leant on the horn again for good measure. Jack watched it disappear into one of the retail districts and checked before crossing, though something told him that an automobile accident was probably less painful than being murdered.

He checked his watch, but it was waterlogged and had stopped at ten twenty-five p.m. Muttering about 'cheap crap', he unbuckled it and flung it into the stream of water that ran alongside the pavement. It bobbed away, twisted in the water for a few feet and clattered into the sewers.

_You could have fixed that._

Ignoring himself and feeling faintly ridiculous, he trudged toward a food cart on the other side of the road and rooted in his pockets for some change. The ridicule was replaced with glee as his fingers closed on a slightly soggy five-dollar note amongst some shrapnel and lint, and he realised he hadn't eaten since early morning. The cart-owner looked grateful as he exchanged most of the five dollars for slightly warmed food and soda, and Jack dashed away to get cover while he ate.

Before he reached shelter, he thought for a second and turned back. "Hey, hey bud!"

The cart owner glanced up apprehensively.

"You got the time?"

He looked relieved and laid down his spatula, groping in his apron pocket for what turned out to be a cell. His face lit up in a faded blue light as he hit one of the keys.

"Eleven fifteen." He dropped the cell back in his pocket and looked eagerly at another approaching customer. Jack nodded, half to himself, and shuffled under a store canopy. Biting into the questionable meat in a bun, he found that the bread was now cold and wet, but devoured it anyway. If anything, it settled his nerves.

oOo

By eleven forty-five p.m. Jack was leaning in the back entrance of the warehouse, dripping and shivering. A minute or two later, a non-descript car rolled into the small space behind the building and tucked itself away under a port. Two of the guys he recognised emerged from the darkness a second later.

"Made it then?" The grin on the burly one was disgusting. It stretched his rolls of face-fat and folded them up to his ears. The young guy at his side snickered weakly – he didn't seem much of a threat to Jack, but appearances could be deceptive.

Jack coughed and wrapped his jacket around him more tightly, though it did little good. Burly shot out a hand and scruffed his dark hair roughly, knocking his head against the concrete doorframe a couple of times.

"Aww, c'mon. Why so serious?"

Jack bit his tongue. Burly chuckled throatily and unlocked the door, pushing past Jack into the darkness. Young Guy gave a small smile and gestured for him to go first. Jack nodded and slipped inside.

oOo

"He was here?" The supervisor ignored Jack and addressed Burly, who nodded enthusiastically.

"Oh yeah, the little guy was all dumped on the step like some wet pup, huh?"

He clapped Jack again, who stumbled and coughed, and murmured. "Let's just get on with it, shall we?"

The man paused, hand still on Jack's shoulder, looking to the supervisor for guidance. The man with the papers nodded, and the group spread out. Burly released Jack's shoulder and lumbered towards the open delivery door on the other side of the warehouse.

"A little keen, aren't we, 'Jack'?" The supervisor continued to pronounce his name with that annoying tone of disbelief. A spark flared at the back of Jack's mind and he blinked slowly before facing him.

"I'm cold, I'm wet, and to be quite frank I'm ready to get out of here. I also keep my word… so let's just do this so we can all go home?"

The supervisor chewed his ballpoint theatrically, then shuffled his papers and made a small note at the top of one. "You're right," he beamed. And because you've had such a long walk, you can have a rest."

He pointed at the steel staircase that led to a balcony. The structure followed the perimeter of the whole warehouse, and Jack turned, noting its path.

"You get to keep lookout," the man with the papers continued to grin. "Next time you get transport, so you can get in a little closer. How's that?"

Jack made for the steps in silence.

_Should have kept your damn mouth shut._

oOo

He paced the balcony as quietly as he could, trying to warm up. He knew it was too late for that – his throat was scratchy and his chest burned. If he didn't leave this place dead, he was at least leaving it with pneumonia or something equally shit. Every now and then he scanned the dark corners of the warehouse, but there wasn't enough light to reach all areas, not to mention the between high shelving structures beneath him. The most life he could see was the shadows of the working men filtering in from the floodlights outside.

_Damn shitty weather._

Suddenly the men fell silent and the shadows froze. In the absence of the rain and the street noise, it was like being plunged underwater. A voice echoed through the delivery door and Jack froze, wondering what he'd missed.

"What is this?"

_Flass?_

"Continue…" His voice was raised, amused. The Detective said something indistinguishable, and the shadows on the floor from the opening continued their monotonous dance as the men continued to repack the shipment. He heard a car door slam shut, and Jack leant over the bars in confusion.

_So Flass is in on the shipments too? Well, there's a turn up…_

A figure appeared below him and Jack straightened up swiftly, stepping back away from the edge. Recognising the shabby parker, he watched Young Guy disappear between the shelving, probably to take a leak. The warehouse bathrooms were back there – he'd seen them as he patrolled the walls. Knowing the coast was clear, he was just about to rest his arms on the railing again when there was a muffled shriek, and this time Jack flattened himself against the wall. The men's chatter faltered again at the sound.

Burly's voice echoed around the building as he called Young Guy's name… was it 'Stags'? 'Styce'? Jack slid down the wall and curled up.

This was _not_ going to look good on his record…

The sound of shattered glass – a series of clinks and crackles – filled the air as one by one the warehouse lights blew. The balcony was dipped into further darkness, and Jack waited soberly for someone else to speak again.

"What?" Burly's voice drifted from between the shelving, sounding annoyed. Jack relaxed slightly and craned his neck to see if he could see him.

Like someone flicked a switch, the building erupted in yells and gunfire. Jack felt the structure vibrate as bullets ricocheted off the underside of the balcony, and he covered his head. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a billowed black shape drop from the darkness of the roof and down between the spaces where Young Guy and Burly were. Limbs trembling, he ducked his face and watched tiny peaks appear in the dimpled steel with each rattle of bullets. The panicked voices suggested that there were more men inside the warehouse than he had first thought, unless they had all come running like sheep at the first sign of trouble.

He remained still and unnoticed during the short bursts of silence, holding his breath and rolling his eyes around for any sign of movement. Before long the yells began again, this time from outside the delivery door, followed by crashes and thuds. Jack crawled toward the edge and peeped over the railings; the bat-like shadow whirling on the floor beneath him made his jaw drop.

The Bat-Man.

The last body fell and the shadow disappeared without warning. Driven by curiosity, he slipped back towards the steps and descended a few, gawping at the human wasteland below.

The shipment was strewn all over the ground behind the lorry. Every single guy on Falcone's team was floored, battered and unmoving. Sirens sounded in the distance, but he knew they were unlikely to be heading here, not after Flass' involvement. The mournful wail echoed around him before it faded out, and Jack finally felt very alone and unwatched.

Gripping the railing, he realised that they were probably all dead. He was the only one left; if he wanted, he could get out of the whole damn mess…

The sense of ridicule washed over him again, and he chuckled under his breath. Legs shaking, Jack threw back his head and laughed, half-glad that nobody could see him. His mirth bounced back at him from the black walls.

A whistling noise filled his ears and his face burned, his legs finally buckling under him. As he tumbled to the bottom of the steps, a bat-shaped slice of steel clattered on the uneven floor beside him. He reached across and picked it up feverishly, and the bladed edges bit into the skin on his hands. He couldn't understand why his face burned more than his fingers, and brought his hands up to his cheeks in semi-conscious bemusement.

The raw edges of flesh screamed as his fingertips pushed at them, and horror blanked his mind as he found that the split skin went through and through. Clambering to his knees, he dribbled thick red liquid onto his scarlet-soaked hands, before passing out facedown on the concrete.

Outside, thick glass shattered and Falcone screamed.

oOo

Pulling the scarf down from his face, Jack pursed his lips as he caught a reflection of himself in the glass panel. The stitches in his cheeks glared bold and black between the bruised skin and healing wounds. The spark in his mind flinted again and he mustered a half smile, turning back to the necklaces in the counter-cabinet.

"Can I help you, Sir?" The gentleman behind the counter visibly dropped his composure as he caught sight of the face before him. Jack smiled again.

"Yeah, I'd like to get something for my wife…" He moistened his lips with saliva to make speech less painful.

"You have a wife?" The gentlemen seemed unable to help himself, his gaze glued to the swollen stitches. Jack's spark sputtered into a tiny flame.

"Oh yeah, she's very understanding." Jack took his hand out of his pocket and rolled the grenade around his fingers. "Wanna know how I got my scars?"


End file.
